


How Do You Say...?

by chibi_nightowl



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Airports, Alternate Universe - No Capes, First Meetings, M/M, PerpetuallySleepDeprived!Tim, Polyglot!Jason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 07:42:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10329527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi_nightowl/pseuds/chibi_nightowl
Summary: “Fuck, I need coffee,” Jason mutters as he waits in the short line.“There’s a great place upstairs that always gives me an extra shot of espresso if I ask.” It takes Jason a moment to realize the comment is coming from the young man in front of him.“Yeah?” he asks with a bit of interest. Coffee usually isn’t his thing, but at this time of day, he’s reconsidering his stance on that.“Uh-huh!” The young man says with so much enthusiasm that Jason wonders just how much coffee he’s already had this morning. He looks like he’s just rolled out of bed and tossed on whatever he found before heading out the door.If he cleaned up a bit, he’d probably be good looking.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Trenchcoat Hunter (Reedt)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reedt/gifts).



> I got a wonderful prompt from Trenchcoat Hunter (Reedt) a few weeks ago. I hope I did it justice!

 

_If you're open to a prompt about Jason meeting Tim, may I suggest: Polyglot Jason insulting with 5 different people in 5 different languages fluently on Tim's behalf that leaves everyone stunned after a sleep-deprived/caffeine-wired Tim causes a traffic jam in the middle of the Gotham Airport hallways._

 

It’s so early in the morning that the sun hasn’t even contemplated showing her face on the East Coast yet. As he makes his way through the baggage check at Gotham International Airport, Jason can’t help the yawn that escapes his lips. “Fuck, I need coffee,” he mutters as he waits in the short line. His flight for Paris leaves in about an hour and a half, but at this time of day, TSA will be a breeze. 

“There’s a great place upstairs that always gives me an extra shot of espresso if I ask.” It takes Jason a moment to realize the comment is coming from the young man in front of him. The one that seems to be in all the same lines he is this morning for some reason. 

He’d first noticed the black haired man when he got on the airport shuttle earlier from where the subway let off for the airport. The guy had held up the line for the shuttle when the wheel on his suitcase got stuck in the track and wouldn’t budge. Yanking on the handle of the case didn’t do any good and everyone getting on the shuttle were so focused on themselves they didn’t stop to help. One man even swore at him and shoved him to the side to go around the stuck suitcase. Jason shook his head and yelled something uncomplimentary about the man’s mother before kicking the wheel of the stuck suitcase and dislodging it. 

The young man looked grateful and confused. 

“Yeah?” Jason asks with a bit of interest. Coffee usually isn’t his thing, but at this time of day, he’s reconsidering his stance on that. 

“Uh-huh!” The young man says with so much enthusiasm that Jason wonders just how much coffee he’s already _had_ this morning (or lack thereof, some people get oddly hyper when they’re sleep deprived; his freshman students are evidence enough for that). “I always stop there after TSA.” 

Jason’s starting to wonder how often this guy flies. He didn’t look the frequent flier type, dressed as he is in flannel pajama pants, a faded black hoodie, and some rock band t-shirt peeking out from underneath. He’s pretty certain those are honest to god _slippers_ on the man’s feet too. A few inches shorter than Jason, his black hair is pulled back into a half ponytail with a good chunk of it still falling in his eyes, which are bright blue behind a pair of hipster glasses. He looks like he’s just rolled out of bed and tossed on whatever he found before heading out the door. 

If he cleaned up a bit, he’d probably be good looking. 

Before Jason can reply, a voice from behind him starts yelling at them to stop flirting and move. It’s the other guy’s turn to check his luggage and he’s holding up the line. He looks confused again, but turns and sees the agent looking impatiently at him before a sheepish expression appears on his face. As he steps forward, Jason turns and scowls at the short Asian woman behind him, making sure he _looms_. When done right, he’s intimidating as hell and isn’t afraid to show it. 

“When’s the last time someone flirted with you, old hag?” 

The woman’s eyes widen in shock and her mouth clamps shut tightly in the face of Jason’s _everything_. 

Turning, he waits another minute as the other guy gets that unwieldy suitcase of his checked in. The agent hands him his boarding pass and he wanders off. 

Just to piss off the lady behind him even more, Jason makes a point to take his time with checking in his suitcase. 

TSA isn’t an issue, just like he expects. What he does have an issue with is the guy from the shuttle and baggage check is in front of him _again_. This early, there’s only one person checking IDs and boarding passes and, somehow, this guy has already misplaced his boarding pass. Or his ID, Jason can’t quite tell as he’s fumbling through his messenger bag, mumbling and looking nervous. 

The TSA agent looks bored as she waits and Jason can’t help but chuckle to himself. This guy is hopeless. But behind him, the next man isn’t quite so amused if what Jason hears is any indication. 

“The signs say to have your ID and boarding pass ready. I thought Americans are always in a hurry?” 

“Are we? That’s not what she said last night,” Jason retorts, looking over his shoulder and glaring at the man and giving a smug look at the woman beside him. They both gape at him, eyes wide. 

Jason returns his attention to the fiasco in front of him and just catches the confused look the black haired guy gives him as he finally digs his passport out of his bag and hands it to the TSA agent. She waives him through and Jason steps up, handing over his boarding pass and passport. 

Since the guy was in front of him at TSA, this also means he’s in front of Jason as well as they go through the scanners. He goes slowly, like the motions are foreign to him. Jason raises an eyebrow as he quickly removes his laptop from his backpack, as well as his Kindle (he never uses it except for when he travels since it takes up much less space than whatever books he’s currently reading). 

“You okay there?” he asks the shorter man. 

“Huh?” the other guy replies, a startled look on his face before he apparently recognizes Jason and grins. “Yeah. Too early for precheck,” he says, like that explains everything.

“It’s too early for everyone,” Jason commiserates. 

That gets him an even brighter grin. 

TSA is soon a thing of the past and when he gets his shoes back on Jason spots the coffee shop the other guy recommended. It’s kind of hard to miss as it is the _only_ shop even open on this side of TSA. Not even the Starbucks further down the terminal is open yet. 

There’s a line, but it’s not long so Jason goes and stands, waiting to place his order. He’s happy to see they’ve got some different teas on the menu. He’d much rather drink even sub-par English Breakfast or Earl Grey than coffee. 

At this point, it doesn’t surprise him to see the now familiar looking black haired man in front of him. It also doesn’t surprise him to see the game of hide and seek that occurs when the man tries to find his wallet to pay for his order. 

“His espresso will be ice cold by the time that guy figures out how to pay,” Jason hears someone comment behind him. It seems to be a _thing_ this morning, people muttering about the man who’s always in front of him. At this point, it’s almost a reflex to turn and make his own comment in retaliation. 

“I don’t see you volunteering to pay just to get him outta the line.” Jason gives the dark haired, olive skinned man behind him a glare. “Give a guy a break. It’s ass o’clock in the morning.” 

The man looks about ready to argue when Jason sees the other man step off to the side, a large cookie in hand as he wanders off to wait for his order. Taking that as his cue, Jason steps up to order. “Large, tall, grande, whatever you call it here, hot tea. English Breakfast.” 

The barista smiles like this isn’t the first time she’s heard this. “Your name?” 

“Jason.” 

“It’ll be ready in a couple minutes over there.” She points off to the side. 

Jason gives her a strange look as he holds up a five-dollar bill. “Don’t you need this?” 

The smile grows a bit secretive. “Tim paid for you already.” 

“Huh?” 

“The guy in front you. Said to add whatever you order to his bill.” 

Jason looks over at the guy (Tim) who’s sitting in a chair not far away devouring his cookie like it’s the best thing in the world. He’s not paying any attention to them whatsoever. Looking back at the barista, Jason smirks. “In that case...” 

Banana nut muffin in hand, he strides over to the young man and takes a seat across the small table from him. “Thanks for the breakfast, but you didn’t have to do that.” 

Mouth full, the other guy just blinks at him for moment before swallowing. “Coffee first, then talk.” He’s sounding a lot less coherent than earlier, not that it’s been all that long (or that he’s been all that coherent in the first place). 

Jason shrugs and starts picking apart his muffin. He soon hears “Tim!” called out and the guy in front of him bolts to the counter like his life depends on it. “Jason!” quickly follows. 

He retrieves his order and decides to forego adding any of the cream or sugar he sees at the counter. Taking his seat again, he watches Tim savor his coffee. Because that’s what he’s doing. Lid removed, the guy is literally inhaling the little wafts of steam rising up from the hot liquid between his sips. Jason’s not entirely sure what he’s ordered, but the coffee is just a shade lighter than straight up black. 

What’s even more amusing is how Jason can _see_ the gears finally start turning as the caffeine kicks in. It’s slow at first, but after a few minutes, it’s like a switch goes off and Tim finally looks him in the eye and _smiles_. It gives Jason a fuzzy, tingling feeling as it’s a _nice_ smile. “Thanks for waiting,” he says. 

Jason opens the lid of his tea and removes the two tea bags the barista had put in, laying them in the empty muffin wrapping. “Not like I have anything better to do before my flight.” 

“Still.” Tim takes another sip of his coffee and uncurls from the chair to sit properly. He leans back and crosses his legs under the small table. A slippered foot brushes Jason’s knees as he does. “I’m not exactly the brightest crayon in the box until I have at least two cups of coffee in the morning.” 

“I take it this is number two?” 

“One and a half. I spilled my first cup on the way out the door this morning.” 

“Ouch,” Jason commiserates. 

“Yeah, hence this ensemble.” Tim gestures to himself and seems to notice his slippers for the first time. “To be honest, until this moment I had no idea that I’m still wearing my house slippers.” 

Jason can’t help the snort of laughter that escapes. “How much sleep did you even get last night?” 

Tim holds up a hand and starts counting thoughtfully, staring at his fingers as he does so. “Five hours in the last three days.” 

“Holy shit, how the hell are you even here? I’ve been thinking since I saw you on the shuttle earlier that you need a handler or something. You’re a walking mess.” 

Accepting the rebuke for what it is, Tim shrugs. “I’m not normally this bad. Later flights help.” 

“I bet,” Jason agrees. “If I didn’t want to spend at least half my day in Paris stuffing myself stupid on croissants and baguettes, I’d have taken a later flight too.” 

“You’re going to Paris?” Tim asks interestedly. “So am I. The 4:30 flight that I can’t remember the flight number to. Or the gate. Shit.” He sets down his coffee and starts digging into his backpack looking for something. 

“Yeah, that’s the same time as mine. 1124 leaving from C-18. It’s on your boarding pass if you haven’t lost it.” 

Tim stops digging and smiles ruefully. “Thanks. You’ve done a good job of being my _handler_ already this morning, think you can get me to the gate in one piece?” 

Jason snorts and takes a sip of his mediocre tea. “You remember all that?” 

“Now that I’m caffeinated, yes. Hard to forget a guy who insults people in their native languages. How many do you speak?” Tim cocks his head to the side a bit in curiosity. 

“Uh…shit, I didn’t realize I was doing that.” Jason shakes his head sheepishly. “I’m pretty fluent in five languages and have a good grasp of another three. And if you speak ancient Latin, we’d have a great time at the expense of others.” 

Tim shakes his head in amazement. “That’s incredible. I’m fluent in two, and passable another two. I know that was Spanish you were yelling on the shuttle, and German to the people behind us at TSA. That sounded like Japanese to the lady at baggage check, and I’m not sure what that was in line here.” 

“Italian,” Jason mutters. He feels a bit of heat rising in his cheeks. He’d done it _again._ “I seem to have a habit of replying to people I hear speaking languages I know in that language without even realizing it.” 

Chuckling, Tim takes another sip from his coffee. It’s halfway gone by now. “You a translator?” 

Jason shakes his head. “I should be, there’s more money in that than what I do right now.” 

“And that is?” 

“I’m a doctoral candidate in literature at Gotham University. I teach English 101 and 102 to annoying freshman who can’t disconnect from their phones for five minutes while I’m lecturing them about _Frankenstein_.” Jason goes on to explain to Tim why he’s going on this trip. Six weeks in the south of France, northern Spain, and northern Italy sounds like a dream vacation, especially at this time of year, but Jason will be spending most of his time in libraries pouring over ancient texts working on his doctoral thesis. “I’ll be in Paris just long enough to get over the worst of the jet lag, but tomorrow morning, I’ll be on the train heading south to Toulouse.” 

Tim is hanging on every word. “That sounds amazing,” he breathes in wonder. “God, the only time I’m ever in France is for _work_ and I never have enough time to get out and explore.” 

Jason shrugs. “The way I look at it is if you really want to, you’d make the time.” It’s said easily, casually, but Tim looks stricken for a moment before a thoughtful look settles on his face. 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he agrees quietly, taking another sip from his coffee. 

They sit in silence, finishing their drinks. Jason glances at his watch. “Come on, boarding starts soon. Let’s see if you can make it there without causing another line to back up.” 

“Why worry? I have you to tell off anyone who makes a snide comment.” Tim smirks and gets up, shrugging on his backpack. 

“Says the man who wore his slippers to the airport.” 

“Shut up.” 

Laughing, they make their way through the mostly empty international terminal to their gate, which shows more signs of life than Jason’s seen all morning. Preboarding and first class are about to start filing on. “I still got a ways to go before they even get to my part of the plane,” Jason comments to Tim, who’s taken out his boarding pass and is looking at it. “I’m gonna go hit the can. Think you can make it okay from here?” 

Tim chuckles wryly. “I think so. Where’s your seat?” 

“40-C,” Jason replies. “I like the back of the plane on these kinds of flights. No one ever wants to sit back there, so I can stretch out. I get lucky more often than not on these early ones, so it makes it worth the hassle.” 

“I can imagine.” Tim gives Jason a very obvious once over, which makes him grin. 

“Nice meeting you.” Jason holds out his hand. 

“Likewise.” Tim accepts it and shakes with a firm grip. 

By the time Jason returns from the men’s room, his section is almost ready to be called. He doesn’t see any sign of Tim, so he supposes he must be on the plane already. Soon enough, he’s handing over his boarding pass and makes his way down the ramp and onto the plane. 

It’s a big one, not unusual for international flights, but it has an upper deck for first class passengers. As Jason makes his way down the aisle, he keeps an eye out for Tim, but doesn’t see him anywhere. He makes his way towards the back of the plane and settles in to his aisle seat, shoving his backpack under the seat in front of him. 

After a few minutes, one of the flight attendants approaches him. “Excuse me, but are you Jason Todd?” he asks with a light French accent. 

Jason looks up from his Kindle. “Yeah. Am I in the wrong seat or something?” 

The man smiles. “Yes, you are. Your ticket has been upgraded to first class. If you would follow me please?” 

“What?” Jason asks in confusion. “How? I didn’t do it and I don’t have the money for an upgrade.” 

“It was taken care of for you earlier. If you would…” The man gestures for Jason to follow him. 

“This is some kind of joke,” he mutters as he unbuckles his seatbelt and picks up his backpack to follow the flight attendant. It’s not until he’s following the man that he realizes the entire conversation was in French. _Dammit_. 

They’re soon up the stairs and Jason can’t help but gape slightly at what he sees. He’s never even seen first class on one of these types of planes and it’s impressive. The flight attendant stops about halfway up the wide aisle and gestures to a seat. “Your seat, Mr. Todd.” 

Jason gives the man a skeptical look and looks down at the big seat, perfect for his large frame. He then notices the man sitting next to the empty seat, a tablet on his lap and a bottle of water in hand. 

“Hi,” Tim says brightly. 

This time, Jason does gape. “What the hell?” 

“Sit down and I’ll explain.” 

Mouth snapping shut, Jason sits down. 

Tim directs his attention to the flight attendant. “Jean, if you could get Jason some water, that’d be great. Thanks.” His own French is slightly stilted, but passable.

As Jean walks away, Jason glares at Tim. “How?” he asks. 

“You told me your seat number, Jason,” Tim replies calmly. His name rolls easily from Tim’s mouth. “It’s not often I meet someone interesting like you. I’m sure I’ll pass out on you at some point during the flight, but until then, I’d like to learn more. If you’re willing that is.” 

Jason opens his mouth and closes it a few times before a suitable reply finally comes to mind. “You seem to know who I am now. Just who the hell are you?” 

“Timothy Drake-Wayne.” 

Jason blinks at that. And blinks again. A person would have to be deaf, dumb, blind, and living under a fucking rock in Robinson Park not to know the name Wayne. All Gothamites knew that name. It equated to money and power, but it also meant something else to Jason. He’d been the recipient of a Wayne Foundation academic scholarship for his undergraduate degree and the recipient of a grant from them as well for his graduate program. 

He shakes his head, slightly dazed at the revelation. “I feel like I should say thank you for paying for most of my college education.” 

Tim smirks at that and holds up his tablet. “You’re welcome. Now what I really want to know is how exactly did you write a master’s thesis on the use of Shakespearean slang and insults and how they’ve evolved over the years to the modern phrasings we use now.” 

Jason sees a file open on the tablet with his name on it. “You’re a nosy little shit, you know that?” It slips out before he can catch himself. 

If anything, Tim’s smirk gets even bigger. “Character flaw, one of many, especially when I’m running on fumes.” 

They talk for a good hour into the flight before Tim starts to doze off. He’s completely out for about five hours before he starts waking up. Jason’s catnapped for part of it and has finished one of the books he’d been part of the way through before the flight started. Reaching up, he presses the flight attendant button, already knowing what the young Wayne heir going to need to become coherent again. 

He grins at Jean when he approaches and jabs a thumb in Tim’s direction. They’ve been chatting off and on in French through the flight as well, which the man seems to appreciate. “Sleeping Beauty just woke up. He’s going to need something caffeinated and hot.” 

Tim blinks sleepily at them. He’d taken off his glasses earlier, revealing a pair of startling baby blue eyes. “Coffee?” 

Jason pats Tim on the head. “It’s coming.” Jean chuckles, breaking slightly from his professional demeanor and walks away. Tim leans into Jason’s touch and the pat turns into a light scalp massage as Jason runs his fingers through Tim’s overly long black hair. 

He suddenly realizes what he’s doing and _who_ he’s doing it to and pulls his hand back. Tim whimpers slightly at the loss of contact, but he doesn’t have the chance to pout for long before his coffee arrives. 

Ten minutes later, he’s awake and functional again, the shift from sleepy to awake mesmerizing Jason again. “You’re a walking disaster waiting to happen when you don’t have enough sleep or caffeine in your system, aren’t you?” 

“So my assistant tells me.” Tim’s rummaging around in his bag and looks satisfied by what he sees. “I need to get up.” He waits until Jason lowers the leg rest ( _God, what a wonderful feature on this long ass flight_ ) and walks past, carrying his bag. 

Jason goes back to his book and is deeply engrossed by the time Tim returns, this time looking a lot more put together than he did before. He can’t help but smirk as he slides in, as Tim really does clean up nicely. He’s in a nice pair of jeans now, along with a white dress shirt that’s open at the collar, revealing a v-neck undershirt beneath. A pair of leather loafers complete the look. His hair is brushed, but still loose around his face, blue eyes hidden again behind his glasses. 

“You’re staring,” Tim chides with a crooked grin. 

“Can’t help it,” Jason grins unrepentantly. “You clean up pretty.” 

“Do you?” Tim asks pointedly. 

Jason laughs, wondering what Tim’s getting at. “Unfortunately for this trip, what you see is what you get.” He gestures to his own red t-shirt under a black long sleeved shirt, also wide open at the collar, and his jeans. He knows he needs a shave, not having taken the time to do it earlier. 

Tim gives him another obvious once over and it suddenly becomes clear. “I can work with that.” He grins. 

“Just so you know,” Jason drawls as he returns Tim’s look with one of his own. “I don’t put out until at least the third date.” 

“Good,” Tim replies, though a bit of red dusts his cheeks at the bluntness of Jason’s words. “That’ll make it worth the effort if I can make it to Toulouse while you’re still there.” 

“If you can make it to Toulouse, Mr. I’ve-Never-Traveled-Outside-Paris-Before, I’ll make an exception for after the second date.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for bookworm Jason. I don't know about you, but my freshman English classes would have been a hella lot more interesting if he'd been my TA. :D


End file.
